


Take Me to Church

by thefoxwoman



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fanon, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Oral Sex, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, Spells & Enchantments, Young Caroline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:20:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29524938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefoxwoman/pseuds/thefoxwoman
Summary: Caroline and Abigail are more alike than you think.Caroline is a young woman in Stardew Valley looking for magic. She finds it, and of course, more, in a stone tower at the edge of the forest.**Takes place before the events of Stardew Valley****Explicit sexual scene for like, a paragraph, otherwise it's romance and fluff**
Relationships: Caroline/Pierre (Stardew Valley), Caroline/Wizard | M. Rasmodius
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Take Me to Church

**Author's Note:**

> Hozier is our horniest bard. I have to commend his music for inspiring this. Other inspirations include: Practical Magic, The Witcher, and Howl's Moving Castle. Oh and that one scene from Bridgerton. You know, THAT staircase scene.

The figurines on the altar are collecting dust. Candles haven’t been lit in ages. The chairs with failing upholstery are deflating, no one to sit in them. The room needs to be aired out, and the fire needs to be lit.

These are all things Caroline could do, that she would do, if it weren’t for her current position. She’s “of age” in town, a young woman with spunky green hair and a fascination with fairies. She wants to look for mushroom rings in the forest and skip pebbles across the glittery water of the lake. 

She wants to escape her parents, who are pressuring her to find a partner and get married. Who want her to continue the worship of Yoba, a new god in the Valley, though not that new. Everything here is ancient, but there are some tales that are older. 

So she’s set out to look for them, her mind not yet stained by the cynicism of the rest of her age group. Her best friend Jodi is being courted by Kent, her other friend Clara is planning her wedding to become a “Mullner.” They keep asking her if she finds anyone cute. What her future wedding dress will look like. But Caroline is looking for summer spangles and little toads under the logs. She’s checking out history books at the library and practicing ancient hieroglyphics. She’s drawing circles of salt on her bedroom floor and pretending not to hear her mother calling her to dinner. 

On this day in the forest (when she’s supposed to be clearing out the Shrine to Yoba back at the dinky general store run by Pierre Sr. and his son, Pierre Jr.) she is on a quest. She has a bag of flowers and gemstones, and a piece of driftwood that she’s fashioned into a wand. She is casting imaginary spells as she skips through the woods, not yet ready to leave her childhood innocence and stories behind. 

And that’s why, when she stumbles across the moss-covered steps leading to an old tower, she waltzes up them. Her imagination is endless, her fancy of becoming something more than just a country girl is at the top of those steps. She swings open the door, her “wand” pointing in front of her. 

And she hears a chuckle. 

A young man, a few years older than her is sitting in a plush armchair in the corner of the room, looking amused. His hair is purple, and his eyes are black like obsidian. He’s wearing a long black robe, and a few heavy gold tassels are slung around his neck. On his lap is a huge tome, Caroline can see the edges are worn and wrinkled, and perhaps even burnt. 

“What brings you here child?” he asks her. 

“I’m hardly a child. I’m 20 years of age, not that much younger than you.” Her hands are on her hips, her head is tilted in stubborn defiance. 

“I suppose not then.” He says, stroking his chin thoughtfully. 

“Is that a wand? Are you a spellcaster?” he asks, pointing to her driftwood. Caroline realizes how silly she must look then. This young man before her clearly has more experience in the archaic arts. 

“I’m not, really anything.” She mutters, her hand dropping, wand falling to the floor. 

“Now I wouldn’t say that.” The wizard is at her feet, bending to pick up the driftwood. 

Their fingers brush against each other and Caroline swears she can feel a jolt of electricity travel up her arm as she accepts back the piece of wood. He has a curious look in his eye as he regards her. She leaves quickly, scurrying out to run home and process. Of course, she gets a lecture from her mother about her muddy boots, and not cleaning the altar. 

But the next morning she is determined. She pulls her hair into twin pigtails, she dresses herself in black tights and her sturdy adventuring boots. And she grabs her wand and makes her way into the forest. She doesn’t notice Pierre Jr. waving a greeting as she passes by his store. 

The wizard is in a different spot now. He’s looking carefully at a vial filled with some green slime. He isn’t surprised when she shows up. 

“You’re back, I assume you want training?” his voice is haughty and bored, and she hates it. She hates that he’s shed his robe today and is wearing sensible suspenders, a billowy shirt with the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms. That his shoulder length purple hair is pushed behind his ears in a low ponytail and an earring hangs from his lobe. 

“I don’t even know if I can do magic.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous. Everyone can do magic. It’s a matter of what your interpretation of magic is.” 

The first lesson is to clean his tower. Caroline is naturally, pissed. But the wizard shrugs and sets to work himself organizing various bottles. When she realizes that he’s not going to actually teach her anything, she relents. What else would she be doing on this spring afternoon? So she grabs a broom, and a duster, and busies herself with sweeping. She sweeps out curious dust particles, a lot of sand, even come crumpled leaves. She sees the outlines of a chalk diagram on the floor and recognizes the symbol. 

“I’ve seen this before! In one of the books in the library.” She exclaims. 

“Ah yes, it’s useful for summoning a physical entity.” He responds. She tries not to look too carefully at his slender fingers as he separates herbs into different glass jars. 

He sends her home that night with some books. Caroline spends all night reading them. She’s late to his tower the next day, though she can’t remember agreeing to meeting him at a specific time. 

They go over magical herb identification the next day. Caroline is sent foraging in the forest. She brings back mugwort, dandelion, sage, and thyme. 

“I could cook with half of these.” She jokes. To her surprise, the wizard gives her a small smirk. He shows her how to grind them up and combine them into special protection packets to sprinkle over doorways and windowsills. 

They go over different crystals and rocks next. He has very specific rules for each of the minerals. He cautions her against using too many of them at the same time. His lessons all fall back into the same theme. 

“Nature is the root of all magic in Stardew Valley. The more you respect this earth that we’re on, the stronger your magic will be.” 

She has started collecting amethyst crystals. They remind her of his hair. A color she cannot ever get right when painting, a force she cannot control. She lines the crystals on her window at night to be charged by the moon. Then she dreams of fields and comet chasing and twinkling sprites that dance around her ankles. 

They have become quite close in just a few weeks. She learns that his name is Rasmodius and it sounds like a song on her tongue when she says it. For this reason, she’s always saying it. To herself in her room, to his face in the tower. She likes the way his breath catches when she says it. A man with so much magic at his fingertips becoming so tongue tied at a spunky green haired young woman speaking his name. 

Caroline begins to understand what Jodi and Clara are always droning on about. She thinks that she probably wants a bright yellow wedding dress. It’d clash horribly with purple hair, but that would be the fun of it. 

They are sitting at his table, reading by candlelight one evening (when Caroline has told her parents that she’s sleeping over at Jodi’s) when Rasmodius slams his book shut. She quirks an eyebrow at him, wondering why he’s rubbing his neck looking troubled. 

“What’s wrong?” she asks. 

When he looks back up at her, she is blown away at the longing etched onto his face. 

“Forgive me. You’re driving me mad.” He says. 

Caroline considers what this means. “Mad” is exactly how she feels, walking through town looking for any glimpse of purple. “Mad” is how she feels as she secretly looks up love spells. “Mad” is how she feels when she dreams at night of eyes that look like galaxies and long fingers clutching her own. 

She meets his gaze. “Forgive me,” she says, “I want to drive you mad.” 

He is next to her in an instant, maybe he made the table disappear, she’s not sure. But the one thing she is sure of is that his hands are cupping her face and he’s looking at her with such adoration. 

“May I?” He whispers. 

“Yes.” She breathes. 

Kissing him feels like a storm in the ocean, Caroline surrenders to the pull. 

And what a pull it is! Now that it’s been all said and done, passion erupts from both of the young magic students. They are exploring every inch of each other. They are moving fast, like two flames burning down a wax candle. 

Caroline gasps as he grips her breasts. Rasmodius feels a weight beginning to strain in his pants. He wants to bring her to his bed chamber, up the stairs. But they make it only halfway, before she’s pulling him down, her lips eagerly meeting his neck, his chest. 

So he improvises, and begins to kiss her on her jaw, on her neck, on the swell of her breasts. He’s traveling lower, running his hands on her legs. He reaches the waist band of her leggings. 

“May I?” he asks again, his voice is husky this time. 

“Yes.” She is breathless. 

Her skin is radiant and the patch of hair over her womanhood is a light blonde color. He nuzzles his nose in it for a minute, before he continues pressing kisses along her body. One on the inside of each of her thighs. Two on her outer lips. Three, in a spot that makes her moan, long and slow. He takes this chance to taste her, and relishes in the whimpering sounds she’s making. He traces lazy circles with his tongue around her cunt, he sucks on her clit. And she is trembling with how good it all feels. No one told her sex could be like this. Like she was an ancient idol, and he, a worshiper. 

Eventually, they make it the bed. Rasmodius doesn’t want her back to bruise from the cold stone steps any longer. And under the velvet covers, they gasp and writhe and plunge into passion and desire. 

It is dawn when they are woken by a raven cawing in the window. Rasmodius knows what this means and he feels a heavy stone sink in his heart as he looks over to Caroline. She is just waking, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings. 

“Don’t go.” She pleads with him later that morning. “I love you!” 

“I have to Spangle.” He says, his affectionate nickname for her favorite flower, “The Gotoro Empire has attacked. Ferngill needs wizards and magic casters on their side. Come with me! Let’s fight this together!” 

But Caroline can’t leave the Valley. She can’t leave her parents and her friends and her life to go fight. Rasmodius knows this and she’s almost angry that he’s asked her to join him anyways. That she’s allowed herself to fall in love with him, when she knew something like this would happen. She thinks back on a time when he produced a pumpkin out of thin air. 

“It’s magic," He said then, "It’s not real.” 

It takes her a month to figure out that she’s pregnant. He doesn’t respond to her letters. She tries to summon him, like he taught her how. There's no response there either. She wonders if he's died in a battle or captured by another wizard fighting for the opposite side. She ends up on her bedroom floor sobbing into chalk and salt. 

She finds Pierre one day, at the beach. She feels like a fairy, beckoning him into a secluded part of the shore. She thinks about slender hands on her waist and eyes the color of onyx as Pierre fumbles around on top of her. She fakes her orgasm. The next week, she accepts his proposal. 

The leaves are turning gold and orange when Abigail is born. Caroline thinks about fairy lore, children swapped with changelings. Of course, she would never want to swap out her daughter. But Abigail has bright purple hair, from the roots. And sometimes, a pang in her chest hits her when she catches her daughter pouring over a mythology book or examining an amethyst stone. 

She keeps her hair green. But that’s about it. She’s a mother and wife now. Guilt keeps her cleaning the altar to Yoba and sleeping in the same bed as Pierre. Grief keeps her tied to Jodi, and the two are bonded further when Clara is taken from the world. 

And she tries to not be proud, as Abigail blossoms into a fresh young woman, enchanted by myth and magic-- as she herself once was.


End file.
